This Stop Is

Dangerous things are most entertaining when they happen to someone else.

That was why I liked ghost stories. While the protagonist held their breath at footsteps beyond the door, all I had to do was peel tangerines under the covers.

Living it myself was another matter entirely. How many things in this world were really worth staking your life to confirm? Hear a suspicious sound, and you lock ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the door. If a place is dangerous, you simply don't go. That was enough.

At least, that was how I had meant to live.

"Attendant."

Someone touched my arm.

I looked up. A middle-aged woman was pointing at the rack overhead, where a single gray travel bag sat.

"Would you get that down for me?"

I reached up before I could think. The handle came down heavy in my hand. Only after I had set the bag on the floor did I realize something was wrong.

Why am I the one getting this down?

"Thank you."

She wheeled the bag back to her seat. I stared blankly after her, then looked down at my own sleeve.

A deep navy uniform. A white shirt and a wristwatch showed past the cuff, and when I dropped my gaze, the trousers and polished dress shoes were every bit as precise.

I had never bought clothes like these.

Then the floor shifted under me. I caught a seatback to keep my balance, and beyond the window, lights streaked past in a long blur.

…A train?

"Doyun?"

A woman in the same uniform came toward me, her hair tied neatly back.

"Did you return the lost item?"

"…Sorry?"

"The passenger from earlier. The one who asked you to find a glasses case."

And who is that supposed to be.

I didn't say it aloud. She knew me. I didn't know her. Better to keep my mouth shut and get a read on things first.

"I got a little dizzy."

"You don't look well. Sit and rest. I'll watch this car."

I nodded and stole a glance at her name badge.

Yoon Seoha.

I was sure I had heard that name somewhere.

There was no time to work it out. Something more urgent came first.

I followed the restroom signs out of the car, locked the door, and stood in front of the mirror. A man I had never seen was staring back at me.

I pinched my cheek. The face in the glass stretched with it.

It even hurts.

My eyes dropped to the badge.

This is my name…?

For an instant the word possession cut through my head. I had lived with a novel under my arm for years; there was no way I wouldn't recognize this. I had only never thought it would be my turn.

Then what happens to my real body? Is there a way back?

I lowered the hand from my cheek. Staring into a mirror wasn't going to give me an answer.

Get off at the next stop. Find somewhere quiet, catch my breath, and then think.

I left the restroom and checked the information screen on the wall.

Bound for Onjeong. That place name was familiar too.

The moment I confirmed the train number, cold ran down my spine. I turned toward the passenger car. Beyond the glass door, Yoon Seoha was talking with a passenger, drawing the end of her sleeve down over her wrist.

…No. No way.

She always covered them like that, the moment her wrists showed. That was what it had said.

The Last Downbound Train.

The ghost story I had read all the way to the end.

Only then did the scattered names fall into place. Hangyeong Railroad. Train 1207, bound for Onjeong. Yoon Seoha, the attendant who looked after the passengers.

No. Wait.

What was the date?

I looked at the screen again.

October 18.

The day this train disappears.

My mouth went dry. The incident began at exactly 8:17 p.m. The protagonist of the original novel had heard the strange announcement and looked at a wristwatch first, so there was no mistaking it.

It was 8:14 now.

Three minutes. Maybe.

I pushed through the door into the car. Yoon Seoha started to say something when she saw me, but I spoke first.

"Can we contact the engine room?"

"What's going on?"

"We have to stop the train. Before it enters the next tunnel."

Yoon Seoha's brow drew tight.

"What's in the tunnel?"

"There's going to be an accident."

The moment I said it, I sounded unhinged even to myself. And I could hardly tell her I had read it in a novel.

"Where did you hear that? Did a report come in?"

"I'll explain later. Please, just confirm it. That's all I'm asking."

She studied my face for a moment, then lifted the radio.

"Team Leader, this is Car 3."

A short reply came back. I looked from the information screen to the window and back again. The display had already switched to a sightseeing guide for the next station.

"Attendant Kang says there's a problem on the tracks. Have you received anything?"

Yoon Seoha listened a moment longer, then held the radio out to me.

"What's the problem? Who reported it?"

I was about to answer when the world outside the window went pitch-black. Cabin lights and the passengers' faces reflected in the glass.

The tunnel.

"…Too late."

Crackle. Static.

It wasn't the radio. The sound was coming from the speakers overhead.

The words cut off. Through a long drag of noise, the same phrase leaked out again.

The man in the next seat pulled out one earbud.

The name of the station was the one thing I never caught.

Yoon Seoha took the radio back out of my hand.

"Team Leader, did you hear the announcement? The cabin broadcast right now is—"

Nothing answered from the other end.

On the screen at the front of the car, the photographs of tourist spots vanished. White letters rose over a screen gone black.

Two more words latched on beneath them.

The first station. Gwiga Station—Returning Home.

In the original, a male attendant had gotten off at this station and never come back.

The problem was that the attendant was Kang Doyun. In other words, the man I was now.

He had gone after an old man who got off alone, saying he would bring him back, and vanished beyond the ticket gate. That was the end of it. The passengers only realized he was gone after the train had already departed.

When I read it, I turned the page without a second thought. So long as the protagonist survived, that was enough. There was no reason to remember an attendant whose name appeared once or twice and then was gone.

I wiped my damp palm on my trousers.

I haven't gotten off yet. All I have to do is not act the same way. Stay inside until the train moves again. Everything else can wait.

The train slowed.

At the far end of that long darkness, fluorescent light bled in. A yellow safety line, a worn bench, a faded sightseeing board.

The station sign read:

…Munpyeong?

My hometown station.

It had been torn down while I was in the military. I was sure of it.

"Honey?"

A man stood up behind me.

"What are you doing here?"

He waved toward the window. The woman in the seat beside him looked the same way and clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Mom…?"

They were staring at the same place, and still they were calling different people.

Right. Each of them sees whoever is waiting for them.

"Doyun."

Yoon Seoha caught my arm.

"Over there…"

"Don't look."

I threw a hand up and covered her eyes. My own gaze, even so, went to the window.

Someone was standing beside the bench.

A brown coat. A small shopping basket. A woman who had folded the extra length of one sleeve up once.

Mom.

The coat I had bought her last winter.

She raised her hand.

Beyond the glass, her lips moved. I couldn't hear her, and still I knew what she was saying.

My feet turned toward the window on their own. I caught it a beat too late and seized the back of a seat.

Fake. You know that. She can't be real.

I tore my eyes away by force.

In that same instant, the train stopped.

The doors opened.

Cold wind poured in, carrying the smell of wet earth.

"Let me through."

An old man with a cane came up beside me. The moment he leaned his head toward the platform, my mind snapped clear.

This is him.

"You can't get off yet."

I caught his arm as if to steady him and stepped into his path. Over my shoulder, he waved.

"And who are you to block me?"

"This isn't a scheduled stop. I'll confirm it first."

"Then why are the doors open? You telling me you're holding up a passenger?"

I had nothing to say.

He wasn't wrong. Not except for the fact that I wasn't the one who had opened them.

The other passengers had started gathering their bags. Yoon Seoha planted herself in front of the doors and raised her voice.

"We are confirming this stop! Passengers, please remain in your seats for just a moment!"

I drew the old man back into the car.

"If you'll wait inside, I'll check for you."

"Man's got bad legs! I said get out of the way!"

Irritation had crept into his voice. His thin wrist twisted inside my grip. The strength trying to yank the arm free was greater than I had expected.

"Just a moment. First—"

Something struck me in the back.

A bag, belonging to a passenger hauling luggage down. I pitched forward, and in the second I caught the doorframe, the arm I had been holding slipped free.

The old man was already past Yoon Seoha, stepping down onto the platform.

"Sir!"

I started after him and stopped short.

Under my feet was the gap between the car and the platform.

One step. That's all it would take. He wasn't walking fast. I could catch him easily before the ticket gate.

Except that was exactly how Kang Doyun had died in the novel.

My hand tightened on the doorframe.

Reading it, the answer had been simple. Don't follow. Shut the doors. Why walk out at all?

The old man hurried on, cane tapping the platform. Someone who had been standing at the far end started toward him, and he raised a hand, glad to see them.

…Fuck.

I couldn't make myself turn away.

A crackle sounded overhead.

I looked up.

Every passenger in the nearby seats looked at me at once. Yoon Seoha turned as well.

Wait. There was no announcement like this in the original.

The voice came through the speakers again.

Cold sweat ran down inside the uniform.